


Some of Us Were Born for Races to Win

by smokysunrise



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Avenger James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Canon Rewrite, Captain America Sam Wilson, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Gen, POV Sam Wilson, Pre-Relationship, Sam Wilson-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokysunrise/pseuds/smokysunrise
Summary: The Avengers (2012) with Sam Wilson as Captain America. (Bucky and Rhodey are here, too.)“Sam had been working at the VA for a couple years and he liked it fine—better than flying into war zones to save people that never should have been there in the first place, anyway. And hey, he hadn’t gotten screamed at by a guy with a five-dollar crew cut even once since he retired, so that was definitely a plus.The problem was, while he knew he was helping people here and he was proud of the work he was doing, he couldn’t help looking at the sky sometimes, flexing his shoulders and feeling like he was somehow both missing weight and entirely too heavy.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson & Avengers Team
Kudos: 5





	Some of Us Were Born for Races to Win

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting any writing online! I've been fiddling with this idea for a long time and decided that I was going to bite the bullet and post the first chapter, even though I'm not 100% happy with it. Missed Samtember by a few days but… better late than never?
> 
> A few things:
> 
> I am planning to have romantic Sam/Bucky in future fics in a series, but for this one they're still very much in the strangers-getting-to-know-each-other stage, so I didn't include the tag. There's also a brief cameo from modern Steve in the first chapter, but he won't be appearing again in this fic at all, if I stick to my outline. I'm trying not to get too far ahead of myself but ideally there will be Sam/Steve in future fics, with eventual Sam/Steve/Bucky.
> 
> I didn't tag every character that will be appearing because there will be a lot, and most of them won't get a lot of screen time, so I figured anyone looking for content about that character specifically wouldn't want this clogging up the tag. 
> 
> I'm aware that "retired" isn't the correct terminology, but it flows better to me, and honestly I don't care much about real-world accuracy to the details of the military. I won’t be doing more than cursory research into training, ranks, etc, so if that’s something that would bother you, this may not be the fic for you. 
> 
> Also I stole Riley's last name from tumblr user fatcr0w.

Sam had been working at the VA for a couple years and he liked it fine—better than flying into war zones to save people that never should have been there in the first place, anyway. And hey, he hadn’t gotten screamed at by a guy with a five-dollar crew cut even once since he retired, so that was definitely a plus.

The problem was, while he knew he was helping people here and he was proud of the work he was doing, he couldn’t help looking at the sky sometimes, flexing his shoulders and feeling like he was somehow both missing weight and entirely too heavy.

His flying dreams were probably a little different than most people’s—hell of a lot more being shot at, he’d bet—but recently there’d been less fire and death in them and more just soaring, and sometimes there was someone flying at his side and sometimes there wasn’t, but it was starting not to hurt as much, whichever one it was.

Was he romanticizing the memory of being strapped into a discontinued experimental jetpack? Hell yeah he was. He still remembered how most of the other operators either ended up with permanently fucked up knees and backs from the impacts and strain or, in one particularly horrific case, as twisted bug splatters on a rock faces. (Or his best friend, plummeting to the ground in a fireball.) The program was discontinued for a reason.

But however much he told himself that, it didn’t take away the fact that for him, putting on those wings felt as natural as if he’d been born with them.

So… maybe he’d done a little research. And maybe the research was technically way above his clearance level (which is to say _any_ clearance level, considering he was now a civilian). And maybe he’d asked some old buddies to get some harmless info for him, as a friendly favor. Just to satisfy his curiosity. No harm in that, right?

And maybe he had a manila folder full of heavily redacted military files with all the details about his wings he could get his hands on hidden under his mattress. You know, hypothetically.

And really, now that he knew where they were and what the security around them was like, he was done. Curiosity satisfied. After all, even if he was thinking about breaking into a government facility to take some obsolete tech for a joyride—which he wasn’t—it wasn’t like he’d make it through their security anyway.

And all the time he’d spent brainstorming ways to cut through a foot thick steel wall was just idle daydreaming. Because honestly, getting in to Fort Meade itself probably wouldn’t even be that hard with the connections he still had, it was just that he wasn’t a fucking hacker or lockpicker or something crazy like that, so really the only thing standing between him and his wings was 12 inches of metal.

You know. Hypothetically.

He sighed. It was a stupid thought and a stupid risk for a few minutes—hours, if he was lucky—of being back in the sky… but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

***

Today’s support group had gone alright—which is to say that it was painful and awkward and weird, but at least some of them seemed like they felt a bit better afterwards. He always felt a little drained and on edge after a meeting, and that really wasn’t helping with the thought that _wouldn’t it be nice to just get up as high as he could and take off into the sky, just for a few minutes?_

He should’ve known better than to go after that info in the first place, because now he actually had just enough to get himself in trouble. 

There had been way more redacted lines in the file than he’d expected at the clearance level he’d gotten them from, which meant that more than likely someone very high up was doing research into the program, and that the unredacted security measures weren’t all there was—and also that even if he managed to get in and out undetected, it wouldn't exactly be hard for them to guess who--

He shook himself, resolving to put it out of his mind. He was a civilian now. He was going to keep running these meetings, keep working with other vets, and save up for a regular old sky-diving trip or something. That was the end of it.

He heard some clattering from one of the rooms across the hall. Furrowing his brows, he headed over. He’d thought he was the only one left for the day after that session.

The door was slightly ajar, and he knocked lightly while peeking his head in to look around. He smiled when he saw it was one of their nurses who helped with PT.

“Hey, Steve,” he said walking in. “Thought you already headed home.”

“Just had to pack some things up,” Steve said with a wan smile. 

Sam knew the guy well enough to know better now, but when they’d first met he’d actually been concerned about the his bedside manner, what with how his expression always seemed to be tightrope-walking between “just a bit serious” and “completely pissed off.” 

But Steve was by far their most consistent nurse, coming in almost every day after he clocked out at the hospital, and it turned out that when you were a multiply-disabled guy running on way too little sleep, that's just what your face looks like. Speaking of which…

“What is this, your tenth day straight working late?”

“I haven’t been counting,” Steve said with a shrug, turning away to pick up his stuff. “Besides, compared to my ER shifts this is hardly even work.”

“Hey, you don’t have to brag to impress me,” Sam said with a smile, nudging Steve with his shoulder.

“I—I wasn’t,” Steve denied through a laugh, reddening slightly.

“Yeah, whatever. You’re a superhero, man. Seriously, I don’t know how you do it.”

“C’mon, Sam. You work your ass off here too,” Steve said, fiddling with the equipment he was packing up.

“Just take the compliment!” Sam said, grinning and shaking Steve’s shoulder a little. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said, ducking his head to hide a crooked smile before hefting his bag up on his shoulder with a little difficulty and grabbing his cane. He didn’t usually need it just for walking around the room they used for PT, but the walk from the VA to the subway was long enough that he struggled without it. "See you later, Sam."

“Yeah. Get some sleep for once, alright?” Sam called, heading down the hall towards the other exit.

“Sure thing, Ma,” Steve said with a grin and a wave as he rounded the corner. “Follow your own advice, huh?”

Sam snorted and turned back around, only to nearly run over a short, red-haired woman who had apparently been standing right behind him for some reason.

“Jesus!” he said, jerking to a stop before putting a hand to his chest in an exaggerated gesture and smiling. “Sorry about that, I didn’t hear you come up.” 

Which… actually didn’t make any sense, considering she was wearing some clicky-looking heels. He felt wary for some reason—he hadn’t had as much of a problem with hypervigilance recently, but something about her rubbed him the wrong way.

“No, it was my fault,” she said, backing up just slightly with a smirk.

She was dressed sharply in a blouse and pencil skirt, which would usually make him think she was part of their administration, but something about her eyes said “soldier,” and if he was reading her stance right, she was armed. He took a shot in the dark.

“Are you here for the group meeting? The session’s over, but we have another in a few days.”

“Actually I’m here about you, Sergeant Wilson,” she said, and Sam only kept his friendly smile with considerable effort. This… probably wasn’t good. He hadn’t expected a little sharing of military secrets among friends to bite him in the ass this quickly.

"I noticed you've been doing some research."

_Shit._

"That so?"

"Mm-hmm. Why the interest in that old tech of yours?"

He shrugged. "Not _my_ old tech anymore. And I was just curious. That's not a crime yet, last I heard."

"No. But accessing classified information without clearance is."

She pulled some files out of her jacket and handed them to Sam, who took them with a suspicious expression.

“These are the unredacted versions. In case you were still… curious."

"And what branch did you say you worked for, again?" he asked, pointedly not opening the folder.

"I didn't," she said with an unruffled smile.

"Right, uh-huh," Sam said, nodding. "This all seems real above-board. Should I be expecting a black van and a blindfold next?" He was smiling and his tone was light, but he was pretty sure she knew that he wasn't joking.

“Nothing so dramatic. SHIELD is interested in recruiting you for the Avengers Initiative.”

“I am very happily retired,” Sam said, holding the folder back out to her. “No thanks.”

She didn’t take the folder back.

“We’re putting together a team of remarkable people to deal with unique threats that have been emerging over the past few years, Sergeant Wilson.”

“Actually, it’s just Sam. ‘Cause I’m retired.”

“I think you’ll be interested to hear more about the program, Sam,” she said, stepping closer and pressing the folder back to his chest. “Especially the position we’re considering you for.”

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. He was going to regret this, but the curiosity was getting to him.

“...What position would that be?”

“Captain America.”

Sam just blinked at her for a second before cracking up.

“Captain—that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” he got out through his laughter, resting one hand against the wall. He looked back up to see her not laughing at all, just continuing to smile pleasantly.

“Shit. You—you can’t be serious.” What was this, the world’s weirdest sting operation?

“Very serious. We need someone to take up the mantle, inspire people.”

“And your best option was a retired airman with PTSD?” Sam asked flatly. “Not off to a great start.”

"Our best option is a man who was responsible for hundreds of successful infiltration and rescue missions in active war zones. I know you're aware of your reputation. Your name was never released, but there are a lot of people out there who remember a guardian angel swooping in to save their lives."

"I wasn't the only one who flew,” Sam said, again trying to hold the folder out to her, and again having her ignore it.

"You were the only one who left the program voluntarily, and the only one was never injured by operator error. Everyone else either washed out and went back to standard pararescue, or were benched by an injury."

"Or were killed in action.”

She nodded. "Sergeant Riley Eldridge, wasn't it?"

"Yep," he said shortly.

"Considering where we are, I'm sure you've heard this before. But it wasn't your fault."

"Right," he scoffed.

"I'm not saying that to spare your feelings, Wilson," she said sharply. "I'm telling you that as a field operative, we both know that sometimes we lose people. That doesn't mean we give up."

"That's what you think I did? Gave up?" Sam snapped, turning back to her, feeling heat rise in his chest. "I'm not rattling around my house eating Ben and Jerry's! I'm doing good here."

"I know you are. I've looked into it."

"Of course you have," Sam muttered under his breath.

"But," she continued, "there are other people who could do this job. No one else can fly like you, Sam."

He pinched his nose. She smiled and looked around the hall.

"Come on, Sergeant," she said, tone lightening. "Tell me that you don't miss it."

He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

If things had turned out differently—if he had been the one who went down, would they have tried to recruit Riley for this shit? Was it just based on being good with the wings? What the hell kind of qualification was that?

God, Riley would’ve sucked at being “Captain America.” People were always on his case for being too loud, too blunt, never thinking before he spoke. Sam thought people gave him too much shit, but he couldn’t disagree that sometimes Riley didn’t pick up on hints.

Hadn’t picked up on hints. Whatever.

What would they even want him to do? Film some propaganda pieces, do a couple loops of DC in a star-spangled leotard, give a few fluff interviews? Shit.

He got out of the military for a reason. He didn’t want to be some kind of recruiting tool, and he _really_ didn’t want to be back under the chain of command. Being bi may not be a dischargeable offense anymore, but that sure as hell didn’t mean that a superior officer would take kindly to any of Sam’s rainbow merch.

He was dismayed to realize that despite all that, he was still considering it. That it felt like it might actually be worth it, just to fly again a few more times.

“I can hear you thinking from here, Wilson,” the woman said, tilting her head. “You have questions, I’m sure.”

“A few,” Sam said dryly.

“Well, I have answers. Not here, though. It’s not exactly secure.” She shrugged.

“So it’s the black van after all, huh?”

“Quinjet, actually.”

“What-jet?”

“You’ll see. Pick you up at eight?” she said, already turning to leave. “Promise to have you back before midnight,” she added with a smirk.

“It’s a date,” Sam said with a slightly shaky laugh. 

What the hell. Why not, right?

***

_Why not?_ Sam thought sarcastically as he boarded the bizarre “quinjet.” Bigger and quieter than any other VTA he'd been on, smooth ride, high maneuverability. The fact that a “jet” like this wasn’t the new hotness getting rolled out in the Air Force was fucking unbelievable. And it clearly wasn’t just a new prototype—it had been in use for a while, at least long enough for the shiny finish to start to tarnish.

All in all, it was even more unsettling than the literal black van that had driven him to the tarmac. The idea that this was some kind of bizarre sting operation was still in the back of his mind.

The redhead he'd met earlier was waiting for him, dressed in a fucking black catsuit of all things. What kind of James Bond secret agent bullshit--

"Right on time," she said with a smile. "Glad you could make it."

"Me too," he said. "Driver wasn't all that clear on the destination. Is this secure enough for you to tell me what's actually going on?"

"I'm not the one who'll be doing the explaining," she said, leading him further inside.

***

"Sam, this is Director Fury, the head of SHIELD, and Margaret Carter, its founder." The agent indicated a man with an eyepatch and a black leather trench coat, and an elderly woman in a wheelchair, both sitting at a metal table.

"Pleased to meet you sir, ma'am," Sam said. This was all still weird, but he had his manners. 

"And you as well, Sergeant," Carter said brightly, in an unexpected British accent.

"Have a seat, Wilson. We've got a lot to talk about," said Fury.

"We sure do," Sam said, pulling out a chair. The place looked a little too much like an interrogation room for Sam's taste, but no double-sided mirror, at least. 

"Then let's get started," Fury said, opening a folder on the table and opening what Sam recognized as some of his own mission reports.

“You were chosen from a roster of soldiers with experience in experimental programs. We were looking for someone with combat experience who demonstrated the ability to adapt to unusual or unexpected circumstances.”

“Washing out with PTSD wasn’t a disqualification?” Sam asked flatly.

“You were still running successful missions after your partner’s death. If you want to stay out, no one’s going to force you back in, but we all know you didn’t really wash out. You chose to leave."

Sam sat back, folding his arms.

“What makes you think this is worth getting back in? What's the point of bringing back a glorified mascot who died 70 years ago?”

“The world is changing, Wilson. Faster than any of us expected. The kinds of threats we’ve faced in just the last few years have been larger than any we’ve faced before.”

“Yeah? What threats?” Sam asked skeptically. 

“You didn't hear about them because we were able to take care of them quickly and quietly—and because we got damn lucky. If you take the job, you’ll be filled in on everything, but I can’t risk telling just anyone.”

“Right, of course” Sam said, huffing a laugh. “So you’re making a new Spec Ops team for weird shit. I still don’t get why you want me to put on the Halloween costume.”

“That was my idea, actually,” Carter interjected with a smile. "Now, that uniform you’re talking about is actually quite dear to me, but I can admit it’s a bit… gaudy. We’ve updated the design, and I think you’ll approve. But the uniform’s not really the part that’s confusing you, is it?”

“No ma’am,” Sam said warily. “I guess I just don’t see what the point is, if you want me on actual missions rather than doing high kicks. Why bring the name back?”

“Well, you might be doing a bit of both, Sergeant. I had to, anyway.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “…Come again?”

"The identity of the original Captain America was never released, at the time because of security concerns, and later because my role as a propaganda figure would have been compromised if it was revealed that I was a woman."

"You were--" Sam sat back for a few seconds, trying to reconcile all that. "Wow. So, I guess you probably didn't die in 1945. What actually happened?"

"During my final confrontation with Johann Schmidt, he used a...an experimental power source, called a Tesseract, to remove all effects of the super-soldier serum from me. Of course I was still able to beat him, but the Tesseract was lost, and afterwards it became clear that the loss of the serum was permanent. I couldn't be Captain America anymore—at least, not the same one—and I believed I would be more useful elsewhere. There was no one at the time who we believed could take my place, so we concocted the story that was released to the public. Captain America was no more, and we expected the persona to quickly fall into obscurity, but it has held on all these years as a kind of symbol. We think it's time to put a new face to the name."

Sam rubbed his mouth. This was still all crazy, but... he couldn't deny that he'd been... not bored, at the VA; his work was important and he loved what he did, but he was just getting more and more restless as time went on. He wanted to get back in the action, and this seemed like it might be a way to do so on his own terms. Still, there were parts of this that worried him.

“If I do this, I will have some conditions.”

Fury sat back and gestured for Sam to go ahead.

"I'm not doing recruitment, and I don't want the Cap image used for it either. I don't want any kid out there thinking that being a soldier is like a comic book."

"Agreed," Carter said. "You'll be operating entirely separately from the military. There may be a few missions where you'll be expected to coordinate with them, or with the military of another country, but for the most part, you'll be working with SHIELD agents."

Sam narrowed his eyes, not expecting her to concede so quickly—and Fury hadn't voiced any dissent, either.

"If you don't want me doing recruitment, why the persona?"

"We need popular support to keep this new group funded and unobstructed," Fury said. "The kinds of missions you'll be doing will likely include high profile, public targets, or take place in civilian areas; sometimes both. We need people to believe that we're on their side if we want to operate freely."

"Are we?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.

"We are," Fury said, at the same time that Carter said "Absolutely."

"Hm. If I do this, I want to be fully briefed on all relevant aspects of every mission, and I want the authority to reject a mission for any reason."

"There may be times when you will need to be deployed quickly, and times where we may not have much information to give you," Carter said. "But if you ever believe that you're being ordered to do something you find morally unacceptable, of course you will have the power to say no."

Sam nodded while he considered his next condition, if he wanted to bring it up at all—he had decided before coming in that he would, but now that he was here, it felt like the answer was obvious. If they wanted him to be popular, it was probably a no-go, but he had to ask.

“I’m bisexual. I’m not keeping that a secret.”

“Not a problem at all,” Carter said. Sam blinked.

“Just… just like that?”

“You know DADT got repealed, right?” Fury said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I may have heard about it,” Sam said dryly, like he hadn’t been keeping his eye on those regulations for his entire military career. “I’m just saying, if you want me doing publicity, I’m gonna be wearing pride merch. You sure a bisexual Black man is the best choice for gaining public support?”

"There are some people who will write you off because of one or both of those things, but we believe that appealing to those who may otherwise feel naturally distrustful of this type of operation will offset that, and that your record of service primarily including medic and rescue ops and your history as a VA worker will further influence people in your favor."

Well, that was both more cynical and more honest than he was expecting.

"And you?" Sam said, turning to Fury.

“Deck yourself out in rainbows for all I care. The public side of things isn’t really my area. What I’m concerned with is whether you can do the job. On paper, it looks like you’re qualified. But we’re gonna need to do some trial runs.”

“What kind of trial runs?” 

“A few small missions, see how well you can lead different team comps. The squad I’ve got in mind for you at the end of this is not your average team.”

“No kidding,” Sam snorted. Fury shook his head.

“Whatever you’re thinking of, forget it. The people you’ll be working with are not like anything you’ve seen before – and you won’t be anything like anything they’ve seen before. They aren’t soldiers, they aren’t team players, and they aren’t easily impressed.”

“Sounds like a shitshow,” Sam said. “Why them?”

“Because all of them have skills and abilities that no one else can bring to the table. I'd call them the best of the best, but for some of them, they're the only."

"Right," Sam said, somewhat skeptically.

"Well, if those are all the questions you have, Sergeant, I have something I'd like to show you," Carter said, gesturing to the agent who had been standing silently by, who picked up a large metal case and set it on the table.

"Thank you, Natasha," Carter said quietly, smiling at her, before turning back to Sam. "We've taken the liberty of having a few upgrades installed, but I think you'll find they still operate just as smoothly as you remember."

She opened the case, and Sam, in spite of himself, felt his breath catch slightly when he saw the familiar harness. Damn, they definitely saw that.

He was almost too distracted by the wings to notice what was folded beneath them.

"Is that..."

"The redesigned uniform," Carter said, pulling both the wings and the suit out of the case. The wings had been given cherry red highlights, but the suit itself was more muted and practical looking than he'd expected, although it still had the iconic star on the chest and the red, white, and blue color scheme.

"It definitely looks less... skintight than the original," he said, unfolding it to see better.

"I'll have you know that I wasn't running around in a stage costume while I was actually out in the field," Carter said, a bit snippily. "It was still gaudy, but it wasn't spandex."

It was almost a shame, Sam thought. He could've made that look good.

"So, what'll it be, Wilson?" Fury said, leaning forward. "Want to get back in the sky?"

They had to know that showing him the wings and telling him they'd take them away if he didn't take the job was tantamount to extortion, but it was working, dammit. He knew he was being painfully obvious about how much he wanted it, but with these people, would it have done any good to try to hide it? They knew before Sam stepped on the quinjet that he wouldn't step off it without those wings.

Sam sighed. May as well see where this all goes.

"I'm in."

"Welcome aboard, Captain," Carter said with a bright smile, reaching out a frail, thin hand to shake his.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback, criticism, or critique is appreciated! I have experience with receiving art critique so don't feel like you have to spare my feelings too much, I won't take it personally. I'm particularly interested if Sam's voice came across well, and if everyone seemed in character or not.
> 
> I'm a very amateur writer and would really like to avoid looking like a dummy, so if you see any glaring errors please god point them out lol


End file.
